Hush

I was too exhausted to become a twenty-hour-a-day person, and too slow with the rest of my work to get outside sources in the twelve to fourteen hours I studied each day. And compared to people like Harold and Ned, I had nothing worth saying in class. I made mistakes - in fact, silly blunders. If lucky, I was mediocre. And my conviction of my mediocrity was sour and unhappy. I had given up a good career, some security and distinction, to be swallowed in the horde, to confront intelligence which overshadowed my own. The shame at what I'd lost and was incapable of doing had become acute; and the day I embarrassed myself by making that mistake in Mann's class, I was low enough that my feelings worsened into something harrowing. 


Walking out of that session, I was as close to tears as I had been in a decade. I wanted to explain to Mann, to all my classmates, that I really wasn't dumb or indiscreet, that I was able to accomplish many things worth doing. But there was no way to prove that, to them or even to myself.


- Scott Turow, One L.


Nobody said it was going to be easy.

Adamant as I was prior to handing in the assessment that I would not put a value on myself or any others based on the mark I would receive, it still did little to soften the blow.

I was adamant that I would do it on my own, I would adhere to what I think is right because I needed some proof to myself that I would still be able to stick to the ground I believe in, and I would not let circumstances get in the way of my conscience.

Turns out reassurance only qualifies in cases where you do well. Oh how many consolatory words I have said, and they seemed so rational when you are on top. But when you are clutching at straws, trying to reconcile your self esteem with regards to the reality of adversarial education, those words no longer make sense.